Pick up.

I hate my imagination when I'm sad, it tends to cook up the most dreadful stories.
Like reasons why you're not answering my call- for example if you got hit by a car
oh god please no. Told you, dreadful.
(one hour later)
so, your phone was screwed, but you called back anyway. to a screaming fit of
tears and messy hair. it's a love/hate relationship with arguments with my parents
i hate it because i get so damn emotional, i love it because they THINK they won.

It's all going to where it all started, behind your back-
afterall, you choose to let me hide
i wanted to let you in on the know, but you pushed me away
hope you fucking regret this.